


The Ghost and Dr. Lecter

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Beverly is pissed, Don't kill people if you don't want ghosts, Hannibal is haunted, M/M, Smut adjacent, Will just wants to get laid, sexually frustrated murder husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5921305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An apparition plagues the happy home of the murder husbands. Can they learn to live in peace?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost and Dr. Lecter

**Author's Note:**

> _I can forgive Hannibal almost every misdeed, except the murder of Beverly Katz - the best part of team Sassy Science and the best friend Will ever had. RIP, Bev._

Hannibal was trying very, very hard not to come in his pants. From the sounds Will was making as Hannibal ground him into the Italian silk couch, it wouldn’t take much to put the empath over the edge either. Frantically, Hannibal reached for Will’s belt, it had been a long time and they both needed this.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal saw a movement. He shifted, trying to block Will’s eye line.

Will stiffened. Not in a sexy way. Hannibal sighed, he knew what was coming. His little mongoose had frozen solid, every muscle in his body impossibly tense. Will’s grip shifted on Hannibal’s shoulders, pushing away.

“I’m sorry, I…” Will’s eyes were wide and troubled. “Not tonight, ok? I’m gonna turn in.”

Hannibal shifted, allowing Will to launch himself off the couch. Even with an erection, Will made it to the door in record time, slowing only to grab the whiskey off the bar. 

“Will? We should talk.” Hannibal said to the empty doorway.

“Oh, we will. Later. Goodnight,” from the sound of Will’s voice, he had already made the stairs – impressive considering his physical condition. Hannibal couldn’t blame the empath, but he was tired of this nightly routine.

Three weeks.

Three weeks of having Will writhing and eager underneath him. Three weeks of rude interruptions that left Hannibal hard, frustrated, and utterly alone. Something had to be done.

“Ms. Katz? I know you’re here.”

Nothing.

“Ms. Katz, I believe we should talk.”

“Are you still hard? Because I’m not doing this if you’re still hard.”

Hannibal took a few deep breaths, adjusting his rumpled vest and pants so he would look presentable.

“I believe I am able to receive company now.”

Beverly appeared in a blink, standing before Hannibal in her creamy leather jacket, mouth twisted into an unhappy grimace. He had to admit, she looked good for a dead woman.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestured toward the sofa.

“I know I technically don’t have a body, but I think I’ll pass on the wet spot, thanks.” Hannibal pulled his lip back in distaste. He had always appreciated her bluntness, but there was no need to be crude.

“Wherever you’re comfortable, then.”

“I was comfortable in my body, Dr. Asshole.”

It was going to be a long night, Hannibal could tell.

“No one asked you to break into my home, Ms. Katz.”

“Oh, you’re right. Forgive me,” Beverly sneered. “I’m sorry if my attempts to stop a serial killer inconvenienced you.”

“I did have to resurface the dining room floors.”

“God, I wish I’d put one between your eyes.”

“You would not be the first to wish so,” Hannibal acknowledged. He stood gracefully and walked over to the bar. Will had absconded with the whiskey, which left Hannibal with a choice of brandy or gin. Somehow, brandy seemed like the right choice for a discussion with a ghost. He poured a snifter and automatically offered it to his guest, who raised an incredulous eyebrow and gestured to her semi-translucent body. Drinks for one, then. “Why are you here now, Ms. Katz?”

“The harpsichord you picked up from the antique store has an ancient curse on it.” Hannibal’s brow lifted, clearly unimpressed with this answer. “How the hell should I know? One day I’m the latest installation in the Hannibal Lecter is an Asshole Gallery and then boom I pop up in your study, just in time to watch you sticking my best friend’s junk in your mouth.”

“Yes, I recall.” Will had leapt into the air when Beverly appeared, his knee catching Hannibal’s jaw. It was miraculous that Hannibal had chosen just that moment to pull back and tease his love, as the impact of the knee had clacked Hannibal’s teeth together with a frightening force. Will had immediately apologized and run upstairs, not even bothering to pull up his pants as he hobbled from the room.

“It wasn’t exactly a thrilling experience for me either. I thought you were eating him…well you know, in a non-sex way.”

“Indeed.” Hannibal was sipping the brandy at a faster rate than he had anticipated. He walked back to the sofa, experimentally running a hand through Beverly’s torso. His appendage started tingling, a pins and needles sensation that was jarring to the doctor.

“Don’t do that!” Beverly snapped and blinked out of the room, only to blink back by the oak bookshelves several feet away. “It’s bad enough I have to watch you assault my friend every night.”

“And yet you return, night after night, to bear witness.”

“I’m here all the time, buddy.” Beverly pushed at a book on the shelf until it landed with a dull thunk on the floor. “Do you think I get to go back to a cloud and play a harp when I’m not staring at you two dry humping like teenagers?”

“If you’re our guest at all times, why do you only make your presence known when Will and I grow amorous?” Hannibal crossed his legs and tried not to think of Will’s breathy moans.

“I decided that you won’t be getting laid ever again, Dr. Lecter,” Beverly smirked. “I’d prefer to cut you up like you did to me, but my fine motor skills aren’t what they used to be. Until I can figure out how to operate a table saw, I’ll have to settle for giving you perpetual blue balls.”

“Truly an insidious revenge,” Hannibal acknowledged, “but I see one flaw.”

“What? That you jack off later in the shower?” Hannibal’s moue of disgust at thought of Beverly standing behind him during his daily ablutions made the entity smile.

“No. I merely meant to point out that while you are indeed frustrating me, I’m not the one currently drinking myself into a stupor and crying myself to sleep.”

Beverly paused, eyes looking sad. Then she straightened up, the picture of defiance.

“You’re afraid I’ll drive him away from you.”

“On the contrary, I’m afraid you’ll drive him to drink himself to death.”

“He’ll leave you eventually.”

“Ms. Katz, he knows what I did to you, to Abigail, and what I have planned for Alana. If you’ve been watching us you must know that there’s only one way he’s leaving me.” Hannibal finished his snifter and sat it carefully on a marble coaster.

“So I should let you get laid, for Will’s sake?”

“I’m simply pointing out that your ire is misplaced. I grant that harming Will’s mental and physical health would be an excellent revenge on me, I’m very worried about what this is doing to him.” Hannibal leaned forward, “but I doubt that revenge is one you wish to inflict.”

“You really are a fucking bastard, you know that?”

“I’ve been informed.”

* * *

Will has been giddy for the past few weeks. His visions of Beverly stopped and Hannibal assured him that he smelled no encephalitis festering in his brain. With the hallucination gone, his sex life with Hannibal had finally resumed. It was amazing what Hannibal’s mouth, when not ripping out a windpipe, could do for a man’s morale.

Life had been so good that Will hadn’t even minded Hannibal’s bout of odd luck. Dinners were either burnt or undercooked. Books were being carelessly misfiled or left with bent spines on the library floor. Hannibal’s pristine clothes kept falling off their hangers, only to be found in a sodden pile on the closet floor. And Hannibal had broken at least half of the crystal he had so meticulously collected. Will chalked these mishaps up to a man in love, though Hannibal’s face had been looking drawn of late and his eye was developing a slight twitch.

Hoping to catch his love before lunch was ruined, Will entered the kitchen. His back to the doorway, Hannibal was busy smothering the flames that were emanating from a skillet. Judging by the tension in his body, Hannibal hadn’t been attempting a flambé. The cannibal was muttering in Lithuanian, something about cats, Will thought. He opened his mouth to greet him, but stopped when he saw Hannibal’s crystal wine glass move across the breakfast bar and off the ledge by itself.

The tinkling of shattered glass pulled Hannibal’s attention away from the flaming pan.

“Beverly, this childish onslaught is not working.”

Will could swear he hears a giggle right before the wine bottle spins off the counter and shatters on the floor. Hannibal leaps back from the splatter, catching his oven mitt in the flames still engulfing the skillet. His catlike reflexes save his whole arm from going up, as he flings the mitt into the sink. The smoke detector starts trilling in alarm.

“Hannibal.” Will does his best to keep his voice calm. “What the fuck is going on?”

A woman’s laughter fills the room.


End file.
